


familiar

by bixgchan



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Reincarnation!AU, Vice president!Jean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-07
Updated: 2016-09-07
Packaged: 2018-08-13 14:32:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7980112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bixgchan/pseuds/bixgchan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I’m thirty-five years old, and for as long as I can remember I’ve been trying to look for an Eren Jaeger. So far, it’s futile.</p>
            </blockquote>





	familiar

I’ve always had a knack for leading, not necessarily about being up on a pedestal or anything concerning the matter of climbing the political ladder, but if I were to be completely honest, it was natural to me. My mom would often say that I was a commander general in my previous life, to which I just shrugged - practiced wit and calculated grin - not exactly _faked_ but not entirely genuine either.

 

It’s how politics work, really.

 

So instead of delving into any other areas of education, I decided to try my hand at political sciences. Steadily, I make my way through congress and somehow end up seated as the Vice-President of Sina at the tender age of thirty-five. It’s a position I’ve never dreamed of, all I was really aiming for was a seat in the supreme court, but here I am anyway.

 

*

 

At night, without fail, I would dream.

 

Of a caged city, trapped within the confinement of towering walls that stand proud and tall way above our heads. I dream of growing up with a large family, in which I have six little sisters, a sick mother and a drunkard for a father. I dream of growing up near an ever-flowing creek, the water glistening against the sunshine that manages to pass through the shades of the canopy of trees that envelop our living space.

 

I dream of witnessing a great tragedy - a depression of some sorts - that humanity had suffered through. The reason for the walls, the confinement, the _fear_. There are monsters, these beast-like creatures that have exaggerated facial features and lumpy bodies. Teeth large enough to bite off of a human, tongues long enough to sweep away meters of tilled soil. It’s absolutely horrifying - the blood, the deaths, the destruction - all crashing down in a heap.

 

In my dreams, I stare at the ever flowing creek, the water no longer glistening with clarity but rather, is dulled by the metallic iron of blood. Familiar - strikingly familiar - features greet me. The same face, the same mouth, the same two-toned hair. I dream of myself, apparently, in another distant world - another distant _time_.

 

At some point, I leave the little canopy of trees I lived in, and make way to military training.

 

My dreams are no longer invaded by six little girls screaming from the harsh cold of the flowing creek, instead, I dream of my fellow cadet.

 

I dream of Eren Jaeger.

 

*

 

My head hurts, a dull ache, something that is ever present. Filed reports about illegal drug circulation within the Garisson has made it to my office prior today, and the thick confidential envelope contained strict instructions from the commander of the special operations squad to read through the documents thoroughly - each and every one of the one hundred and fifty-paged document - fucking _Erwin_.

 

As vice president of the country, with only the good of the nation as goal, I toss the document inside a drawer on my large mahogany office table - along with other _important_ files that require my immediate attention - and settle into my reclining chair. The leather is soft, luxurious and probably expensive. I tug at the silky red tie hung around my neck, loosening it, as I pluck my electric cigarette from my chest pocket.

 

I turn the chair - it has _wheels_ \- towards the large pane windows that overlook the main city. Rhythmically breathing in and blowing out large puffs of white smoke. I let my mind wander, to the dream I had last night, I allow myself a silent smile.

 

*

 

“Alright, horseface, listen - “

 

“ _Jesus,_ Eren, stop it with the horse jokes!” I reply, and Eren tries to look angry but I can see the faint tug of his lips, the telltale twitch of the tip of his nose that indicates that he’s holding in laughter. Eren grunts, settling his head into a more comfortable position on my lap as I weave my fingers through his hair.

 

“Don’t pull at the hair near my nape - it’s _sensitive -_ alright?” Eren pleads, and I hum noncommittally. I let him rest, because today’s training was extra rigorous than it normally was. The trainers were especially harder on Eren, being the suicidal titan-shifter bastard that he is, and I can see the tense set of his jaw, his shoulders.

 

I relax, trying to calm my heart, as I watch Eren’s gorgeous teal eyes disappear behind freckled eyelids lined with thick brunette lashes. His breathing turns leveled, and soon enough he’s deep asleep. We’re somewhere in the forest, just a good two hundred meters away from the castle. A moment of solitude between two people. It’s quite contradicting, but it’s what we like to do at the end of the day. Beneath a large tree, in a clearing in the middle of the forest, smack-dab under a thin canopy of leaves. Afternoon sunlight filters through, illuminating Eren’s tan in an ethereal manner.

 

He’s beautiful.

 

The fingers I had that were running through his hair deviate into other territories - down to his forearms - smooth and tan just like any other part of him. Unblemished. Soft. If not for his healing abilities, I wonder how many wounds would mar his otherwise perfect skin? How many scars? How much would the maneuver gear harness etch into his skin?

 

Would he let me kiss them away? Just a fleeting touch, even less than a peck, but more than just a slight press. Would Eren let me do that?

Probably out of curiosity, I take his hand that was curled up into a loose fist against the forest floor into mine, gently bringing it to my lips. Just the juncture between his thumb and pointer finger, where even his supernatural titan healing abilities couldn’t fully eradicate the multiple times Eren had hurt himself. Just a peck, a soft kiss, and nothing more.

 

His skin is warm.

 

“Stupid,” Eren whispers, and I’m stunned to see he’s awake - of course he is, he’s a darn soldier; they're trained to be alert even through sleep.

 

“Bastard, just so you know, that doesn’t really mean _anything,_ you hear me?” I fight, and Eren’s shaking his head and making his move to sit up, and I think, _Ah, so this is it,_ but then those bright blue-green-gold-silver-whatever-the-fuck-that-color-is eyes are looking at me with a fond look and.

 

And then Eren’s lips were against just the barest corner of mine. “ _So_ fucking annoying,” He breathes against my mouth, and I bite my tongue at a protest because Eren’s coming closer _once more_ and I just need to angle my face a little more to the left, so.

 

I can feel Eren’s smile against my own.

 

*

 

I find myself back at the vice-presidential office, the electric cigarette running low on the buttercream-flavored juice. I take one last hit, then blow out a series of smoke rings, trying to find any form of entertainment at how the ring-shaped smoke scatters out after just a few seconds.

 

My mouth feels incredibly lonely.

 

*

 

When Captain Levi, humanity’s strongest soldier and Eren’s hero (no I’m not _jealous_ , damn it), died, Eren was heartbroken.

 

I was promoted to Captain, in Levi’s place.

 

I held Eren’s shaking form against mine during the funeral.

 

*

 

“Mr. Kirstein, sir, would you look into this?” Hanji asks me, her hair a tidied up mess - if that makes sense - from what I can observe from the corner of my eye. She’s carrying another one of those mandatory A4 size papers, which means only one thing - public requests.

 

I sigh, tearing my eyes away from page number sixty two of the file Erwin had sent me to receive the papers. “Thanks, Hanji. Anything new about the search?” I ask, and maybe there’s a bit of sadness in my eyes as I watch as Hanji visibly changes her demeanor - settling for a look that somehow resembles fondness, and maybe just a tinge of pity - and I immediately know.

 

Nothing new, then.

 

“Sorry, Jean,” Hanji says, and I nod in understanding.

 

I’m thirty-five years old, and for as long as I can remember I’ve been trying to look for an Eren Jaeger. So far, it’s futile.

 

*

 

Armin had calculated that tomorrow’s expedition would be the most critical of all we’ve ever had. The final battle, he had said, the stage would be set up for the last cry of humanity against the beasts that roam the Earth they yearn to live freely in. Armin had been excited, hopeful, but really, I was rather apprehensive.

 

 _Freedom_.

 

We've paid a huge price for it, I hope it wouldn’t be for naught.

 

That night, Eren asked me, he had said, _Please take care, Commander,_ because following Erwin’s injury, he deemed himself incapable of leading the expedition and had inevitably turned to me to pass on his authority. It was an honor, never have I ever thought of it as a burden, but nights before an expedition always seemed to want to reverse my ideals.

 

As Commander, I am held responsible, for the victory, for the glory, for the deaths.

 

For Eren.

 

Eren cries when I make love to him that night, his warm heat wrapped around me, and I pepper him with kisses and pleas of _please, please, please,_ please _what?_ He asks, and I never really answered it. Just told him that after tomorrow, everything would be okay. Aside from paperwork, probably. They could be _free._ They could go see the _ocean_. Eren smiles, and I kiss away the tears that flow from his eyes.

 

 _Please don’t leave_ , I think.

 

*

 

The request papers were from a famous painter from Germany. I personally know of the painter, his works in particular, I had been drawn to the grotesque paintings of scattered entrails of unidentifiable animals against a beautiful backdrop of a calm ocean. The contrast was appealing, the way the painter had played and manipulated the colors into his own will.

 

The painter, despite his popularity, had remained anonymous. Had only been known to actually exist through testaments of Mikasa Ackerman, the painter’s manager.

 

The request was if the painter could personally drop by the vice-presidential office, or maybe some other place that I would be more comfortable at.

 

The painter wanted to paint a portrait of me.

 

I signed an acceptance letter.

 

*

 

There are dozens of lifeless bodies scattered on the bloody battlefield - once, it had been a vibrant green, but now it’s a sickening dark red - and I whip around to see -

 

No.

 

I _can’t_ see, is what’s happening. I can’t seem to find where the familiar titan bastard is, can only see red - too much red - and then.

 

A loud boom, stomping feet, gigantic and familiar. I whip around and see a large titan closing in on a limp body on the field. I see brunette hair and tanned skin, and before registering anything else I flee towards him.

 

I clutch Eren close to me, “Eren, no, _shit,_ ” I scream, frantic, nervous, _scared_. I’ve never felt so terrified before, not even during my first experience of a titan attack, not because of the enormous titan steadily making its way towards us.

  
I shake Eren awake, and slowly, his consciousness returns in a presence of bright and lonely caribbean eyes. “Jean,” He croaks out, and I feel my heart clench. I kiss him, and he smiles. Familiar, _cold,_ tangy with the taste of blood. Eren’s got the lower half of his body cut off of him - probably chomped out by some titan, judging from the familiar teeth marks. “I’m so glad you’re okay, Jean,” Eren continues, smiling.

 

I shake my head, pleading, _begging,_ because _Eren you promised,_ and _don’t leave me, bastard!_

 

Eren weakly shakes his head, and brings out a limp hand he reaches out towards me. I clutch his hand in mine, tight, squeezing, trying to hold onto something that’s clearly starting to fade away. “I love you, you know?” Eren asks, and I nod frantically. Whispering the same words back.

 

The last expedition, was, ultimately a fail.

 

*

 

I wave off the hordes of people trying to adjust the lighting in the room, even the kind  girls who had insisted to remove lints from my suit. I hear Hanji announce the arrival of the painter, and I let everyone out of my office as I hear tentative steps against the tiled floor. I take a deep breath, watch intently as the double mahogany door to my office open a fraction.

 

“Um,” The painter says, and he looks up at me through thick brunette lashes and freckled cheeks. “Is this the office of the vice president?” He asks. Confident, cheeky, _familiar._

 

“It is,” I reply from where I was seated, heart heavy and stomach tight. “And you must be?”

 

The man enters fully, “Eren Jaeger, sir.”

**Author's Note:**

> if you're interested check out another jeanere fic i wrote entitled "eggs" (i orphanned it) but [here it is](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7812340%20)


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